


Daesha Dia

by subtropicalStenella



Series: 5 for 500 [11]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breathplay, F/F, Femdom, Makeup, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: 5/500 Prompt for starofwinter: Silais is exactly the kind of girl that Caliber would swoon a little over





	Daesha Dia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starofwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/gifts).



 She's not sure what she expected when Catch grabbed her by the face, kissed her soundly and shoved a keycard into the back pocket of her cutoffs with a sound slap on her ass and a grinning, “ _Payback, babe!”_

 

Payback for  _ what?  _ Getting him into a Fives-and-Echo sandwich? It's not like that was difficult.

 

_ “Promise me you'll have fun? Please?” _

 

Whatever it was, it wasn't a small room mostly occupied by a large dressing table, and mirror surrounded by soft white lights. There's jewelry draped all over it, and a long fluffy scarf made out of feathers, pots and tubes and compacts of makeup scattered across the surface. Lots of gold, lots of paints. A rack of costumes beside the small couch, sequins and sparkles and… letheris. A lot of black letheris. That… Those heels look familiar.

 

Oh no.

 

Oh  _ no _ the door is opening oh no oh no oh no

Long, long legs in thigh-high, spike-heeled boots and black fishnets with stirrups and heartstoppingly curved hips packed into a shiny vinyl skirt shorter than her own denim cutoffs. The boots, the makeup, the jewelry, the  _ corset  _ are all covered in sparkling red-and-gold flames, still dressed from the  _ Fire-And-Ice  _ show with Vrei. 

 

“ _ ImsosorryIdidntknowthiswasyourroomimsorryilljustgo--”  _ she babbles, and belatedly realizes she  _ can't _ leave, because Silais-- _ Silais! _ \--is still standing in the doorway, watching her calmly.

“If you would like,” Silais says softly, inclining her head as she steps into the room, closing but not locking the door behind herself. “Or you can help me out of this absurd costume.”

“Wh-What?” What. What?

“You  _ are  _ Caliber, are you not? We had an appointment?” she prompts gently, taking a seat on the small stool in front of the dressing table, neatly crossing her legs. Big honey-brown eyes, just a little lighter than her own, glance over the aurebesh tattoo on her cheekbone.

“We did?” she squeaks, and Silais sighs.

“Ah. I take it I am supposed to be some sort of surprise?” she asks rhetorically, and she doesn't look particularly pleased.

“I-I… Yes? I think? I'm sorry, I… Catch, he--”

“I see. I shall have a word with him,” Silais says, her voice crisply disapproving. “It is nice to give presents to your friends but  _ this  _ is the sort of thing that requires knowledge and  _ consent _ from all parties.  _ I  _ apologise, Caliber, for any discomfort this has caused you.”

“It's fine,” she mumbles awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of her bright purple shirt. It has a screaming manka cat face wearing sunglasses and she feels ridiculous.

“You are welcome to leave, if you would prefer, Caliber,” Silais offers delicately, lacing her fingers in her lap. 

 

And then she smiles, slow and easy, watching with knowing eyes through her long, feathery false eyelashes. “Or, you may stay.” 

 

_ Gulp. _

_ Promise me you'll have fun?  _ he said.

 

“I… I’d like that m…Ma’am. I mean, miss…”

“‘Ma’am’ will be fine. That  _ is  _ how you are told to respectfully address civilians?”

“Yes ma'am,” she says. That's. That's good, that's easier.

“Lovely. Now, I would very much like to get out of this ridiculous ensemble,” Silais says, and gracefully extends one leg. The underside of her shoes are painted red, with a scaly, snakelike creature of carved gold wrapped around the spiked heel blowing flames down the side of the platform sole. 

 

She catches the heel in one hand and carefully unlatches the first of… wow, twelve buckles going up past her knee. And then a zipper all the way back down to the sole.

 

“Careful,” Silais murmurs.

 

She swallows nervously, and carefully pulls  _ out  _ as she pulls the zipper down, so it doesn't snag in the delicate mesh of her stockings. It's slightly difficult to pull the shoe off, with the angle of the heel, but Silais’ sigh of relief is worth it. The second boot is easier, now that she has the hang of the buckles, and Silais gestures with a twist of her foot that they belong under the couch.

When she turns back around, Silais is facing her mirror, watching via the reflection, and reaches behind herself to pile her lekku onto her head, indicating the buckle of her spiked collar with one slender finger.

It comes undone easily, along with all the jingly chains attached to it that drape over the soft round swell of her breasts.

 

Don't  _ look  _ at them!

 

The buckle on her headband goes next, and both pieces go on the dressing table. There's an indent at the base of Silais’ skull where the buckle sat, and something compels her to rub her thumb over the mark. Silais hums her approval, letting her head fall forward enough that she can rub away all the creases left by the uncomfortable headgear, the tips of Silais’ lekku coiling like black-striped snakes.

It looks so soft… She leans in slowly, her hands on Silais upraised shoulders, and softly kisses the space between her lekku.

 

“Oh!”

She jumps back, hands off. “I'm sorry!”

_ Shit.  _ Too much, too fast, what was she  _ thinking _ ?

“It is quite alright, darling,” Silais murmurs soothingly, looking over her shoulder. “I was simply surprised. Humans have something of an intoxicating effect on twi’lek, you know.”

“I-I had heard something like that, but I didn't mean--” Oh no oh no what if she thought, she wasn't--she wasn't trying to get Silais  _ high _ or anything she--

 

_ “Caliber.” _

“Yes ma'am?”

“What did I say?” Silais’ asks, her voice a cool, crisp demand, staring into her eyes via the mirror.

“Y-You said it was fine.”

“Did I?” Silais asks, voice growing colder, quieter.

No, no she hadn't, that was wrong.  _ Think.  _ Be precise.

“You said it was  _ quite alright _ , that you were  _ simply surprised.” _

“Very good,” she murmurs. “As you were.”

 

Right. Get her out of the costume. She can do this. But there's no jewelry left, just the long stretch of corset laces down Silais’ back. No, not laces, red satin ribbon threaded through the eyelets and tied in a bow, right in the arch of her spine. It's ornate and interlaced into itself to keep it secure. It would have to be, to stay in place with all the impossible contortions she put herself through. 

 

“Take your time,” Silais says.

 

Breathe. This is. Fuckssakes it's not like she's trying to  diffuse a bomb or anything. She takes a knee to get a better angle, and begins carefully pulling at parts of the knot, and finds a loop that makes the whole thing unravel all at once. Clever. Without the tension of the bow, the slippery ribbon begins to slide through the eyelets on its own as Silais breathes. So she… helps it along, threading her finger into the crosses and pulling slowly, one by one. Silais sways ever so slightly back and forth with each tug, as she works her way up and down, alternating the tension so the corset loosens evenly.

Once it's hanging loosely around her waist, she hesitates. It's still mostly covering her, but…

Silais doesn't say anything, just watches through her false lashes. Her lekku shift slowly, but piled up on her head, she can't read them, even if she only knows the basics.

 

Breathe.

 

The front is held together with large hook-and-eye closures, gold-toned and hidden mostly by the jeweled applique flames, but it's easy enough to reach around Silais’ slender waist, grab the edges of the corset and push them together so all the hooks unlatch at once.

She fully intended to stand back up, put the corset aside once she pulled it back, but Silais sighs again and--drops her lekku back down over  _ both  _ their shoulders. Oh no. That's--! That's the _ thing _ , the biochemistry thing, they can pretty much tell what you're  _ thinking  _ by the way your skin tastes or something and she probably tastes like gun oil and engine grease and gross and  _ sweat _ \--

 

She turns her face into the back of Silais’ neck and Silais stretches with a soft groan, a sine wave rolling down her obscenely flexible spine.

 

Okay, maybe not.

Breathe, just breathe. 

 

Silais smells like mint and alien. There's more creases in her skin, vertical lines from the corset ribs, Xs down her spine from the laces.

Silais had… liked it when she rubbed the marks from her headband away, right? Her hands go to Silais’ slender waist--she  _ really  _ didn't need the aluminium-boned contraption to shape her figure--framing her spine and running her thumbs up and down the row of indented crosses, and then the lines around her ribs, slowly working her way forward. When she hesitates again, Silais smiles fondly and takes her hands, pulling them up and around the heavy swell of her breasts, the soft flesh overflowing her hands.

 

“Here too, darling.” 

 

Right. There's. The underwires from the cups in the corset would have left marks too. Silais skin is unspeakably soft. Different from a human’s, cooler, and she can't keep her hands off the smooth, poreless surface--which is just as well, because Silais doesn't appear to want her to, not even when she leans forward to the mirror, examining her makeup.

The bold black stripes of her lekku and shoulder markings reappear along the outside curves of Silais’ breasts in sweeping crescents, and she follows them with her thumbs as Silais leans forward and carefully pulls the false lashes from her eyes. Silais’ lekku slip and shift slightly over their shoulders, the tip of one curling around the strap of her shirt to stay put. It makes her lean forward with Silais, which means that her chest ends up pushed against Silais’ back when she sits back up. 

 

...and all the rest of her as she  _ stands _ up, that teeny-tiny skirt slightly rucked up over her hips. Silais turns, leaning back with her hands on the dressing table. There's a single zipper over her thigh that goes all the way through the skirt, but she has to reach up and pull the vinyl flat and straight to get it undone. There's more black crescents over Silais’ hips, still half covered by the silky garter belt lined with white lace, when the skirt falls away.

Silais smiles at her nervous swallow, at the tremor in her hands as she reaches for the first small garter buckle, still on her knees. 

 

“Oh, those can stay, don't you think?” Silais says, cocking her head. The motion makes a lek flop over her shoulder, its tip slowly flicking back and forth right at the level of her nipple, actually curling around the harder, darker flesh at one point. 

 

Quit  _ staring _ . 

 

“So sweet,” Silais purrs, and reaches down to tip her chin up with one hand. She hooks her thumb into the thin elastic of her panties that slightly indents her skin, lets it  _ snap  _ against her hip. “This, though…”

 

She nods and hooks her fingers under waistband--worn  _ over  _ the stirrups so it can come off easily, she'll have to remember that, not that she'll ever forget  _ this _ \--and pulls carefully down, helping Silais step out. 

 

“Lovely.”

 

The silky fabric is ever so slightly damp, leaving a thin streak of slick high on the inside of Silais’ thigh. Slowly-- _ so  _ slowly, don't want to startle her again--she brings her hands up to frame Silais’ hips and leans in to carefully lick the sweetness away. Silais’ smile is fond and even sweeter, more inviting, so she leans in again, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss over her sex, leaving behind lipstick that doesn't show on Silais’ red,  _ red _ skin.

Silais runs a hand through her hair--conveniently half-braided already--and gently guides her  _ away _ . Why? What? Did she--she didn't--but--!

 

“That will be for later, darling,” Silais explains, and taps her lightly on the nose with the sharp point of a fingernail. “You aren't finished yet.”

 

And then Silais turns, a neat pivot on her toes, and sits back down, but just long enough to pull a soft cloth from a basket and dampen it with something from one of several carved glass bottles. Another turn, the stool apparently on a swivel, and Silais presses the cloth into her hand, closing her eyes.

Whatever is on the cloth smells sweet and sharp, and works beautifully to wipe the thick, bright metallic makeup from her eyes, the glitter from her cheeks, the heavy lacquer from her lips. Huh. Apparently some of the black stripes are painted on, the ones under her collarbones, and the two that curve over the tops of her breasts into her cleavage, drawing the eye inward under a layer of more glitter.

That's it, that's… all of her costume, because she wanted to keep her stockings on so… now what? Can she…?

Silais leans back on her elbows against the dressing table. “Now you, darling.”

 

Oh.

 

She stands, reaches up and back, catches the back collar of her shirt on her thumbs. The way Silais’ eyes immediately jump to her arms with a small, satisfied smile, the way she licks the bow in her naked top lip, recrosses her legs… is  _ very  _ gratifying. She's not a professional like Silais or the other girls but she  _ does  _ know how to make a show out of taking her clothes off, to drag her shirt off nice and slow over her head, to lean back and flex as she does so her abdomen looks  _ especially  _ tight and the V of her hips could cut glassteel.

Unfortunately there's really no sexy way to take off her boots and socks. But then again, Silais is still smiling… playfully? Well, _yeah,_ Silais of all people would know that. That's probably why she wanted help getting _her_ boots off. That was way sexier than this awkward fumbling.

She's down to her cutoffs now, Silais’ cool gaze raking up and down her body, taking in the musculature she's worked so hard to gain and the scars she's worked so hard to  _ avoid.  _ If she hooks her thumbs into the front beltloops, pulling down, she can hide the way her shorts don't  _ quite  _ fit right anymore behind her wrist and hand, and emphasize her V again. Silais cocks an eyebrow expectantly, lounging against her dressing table like a Duchess on her throne. Right. 

 

She… She probably should show that off too, huh? Silais will want to… Twi’leks liked human… Right. Breathe.

 

She rubs runs one hand along the bulge in her shorts, pulls the fly apart, rolls the front open. Convenient that she'd gone CC-style. It's…  _ really  _ obvious that she's very interested in how this evening is going so far as she drops her shorts around her ankles, steps out, stands At Ease for inspection.

Silais barely spares a glance below the beltline. Or at least, around  _ that _ area below the beltline, more interested in the shape of her gunner's thighs. 

 

“Very nice,” Silais purrs, tilting her head. Her lekku tips have curled upwards. That's supposed to be good. “But a little fish told me you might prefer one of  _ mine _ .”

Fish? Oh right,  _ colo _ are sea monsters. Wow, maybe she owes  _ Catch _ , now. Wait,  _ “one of hers”? _

Silais tilts her head the opposite way, twirls a finger in the air to indicate  _ turn around _ , and points back to the couch. Wh…? Oh. There's a latch under the long bottom cushion, the whole thing lifting up on a well-oiled hinge to reveal… 

 

That is a  _ lot _ of toys. 

 

A lot of it is in black and red and gold, her signature colors… but the higher-end pieces, the ones in the front-and-center, the harness with the creases worn into the buttery-soft letheris around the buckles, are all in _white_ and crystal-clear glass.  

“See something you like?”

 

_ All of it?! _

 

She kneels down again, running her hands over leather and plasticine and glass and steel and synthskin. The black harness would be more striking, more fitting against her color scheme, but white harness looks more comfortable, broken in and well-loved. There's… Silais has a  _ lot  _ of dicks. Lots of species and styles and materials. There's a Zabrak model in the highest grade of synthskin she's ever touched with tattoos that match Silais’ markings, four different humans, a few others blatantly artificial in their smoothness or unreal texture. That's what catches her eye, one of the clear glass ones, thick and curved and  _ heavy _ , with a raised stripe swirling around and around all down the length of the shaft from the head down to the fatter knot. She takes that out too, turning to show her hostess, who smiles again, wider and hungry.

 

“Ambitious,” Silais purrs, and stands up. She sounds like she approves. “Though I believe there was something else you wanted.”

 

At that, Silais leans back on her hands on the dressing table. Takes a half step out on one side, then the other, widening her stance in blatant invitation. 

 

“Yes ma'am,” she breathes, and moves forward on her knees. The toys go on the stool next to them, so she can run her hands up the outsides of Silais’ thighs, over the deceptive amount of muscle in the dancer’s long legs. It's a different kind of muscle, lean and flexible and sleek rather than her own thick bulk. She leans in again, kisses the soft pad of flesh above Silais’ sex framed by the silk and lace, and Silais sighs, threads her fingers into her hair. There's a soft, darker bit towards the front, that's one if the… whatsits. Starts with a J, there's two of them and she's supposed to pay attention to  _ both _ and she can't  _ see _ from this angle let alone  _ do  _ anything and… 

 

“Ma’am… I could…”

Wait, Silais talks so fancy, maybe…

“ _ May _ I…?” she reaches forward to thread her arms between Silais’ knees, getting her hands under the backs of her thighs.

“You may,” Silais purrs, and settles her weight, not back onto the dressing table but onto  _ her _ hands, so she can sling Silais’ knees over her shoulders. 

 

Silais cocks her head, smiling slightly, and shifts until  _ all  _ her weight rests on her shoulders, her hands only resting lightly on the dressing table.for balance as she leans slightly backwards.

Alright. One, two jhil… jil? Jil. Above and below a soft-edged slit already slightly wet and flushed. Alright.

She sets her hands under Silais ass and pops her up a little higher, so Silais’ thighs are around her ears, and all that hot, wet flesh is right up against her mouth. Silais is solidly muscled under her curves but with all the weight secured on her broad shoulders and sitting comfortably on her knees on the plush rug, she can stay like this all night. Silais is barely half the weight she can press, so she can keep her up easily. 

 

The first jil gets an open-mouthed kiss, soft and warm, testing the waters, and then another when Silais hums her approval.

 

Silais doesn't sound like the girls in the holos, no moaning and wailing and demands and pleading. She's all soft breathy sighs and long nails like icepicks threading through her hair, and it's better, it's  _ so  _ much better because it's real, it's as real as Silais long, strong legs wrapped around her head and shoulders. The first jil is the better one, more sensitive, gets her minute flexes of Silais' thighs around her, heels pressing between her shoulders.

But drawing circles around the second every now and then has Silais cooing and stroking her hair. It's completely undone by now, but Silais keeps it out of her face, keeps the majority of it wrapped around her hand, not pulling but guiding. She holds steady, especially important now that Silais isn't leaning against the dressing table anymore. Now Silais has both hands in her hair and she can't hear the encouraging sighs at all, because Silais’ thighs have cut off all the sound and most of her air, jil gone hot and wet and tight under her lips and tongue.

She manages not to gasp when Silais lets her go, and she's still rock-steady holding her, but she's a little breathless. 

 

“ _ Lovely _ , my sweet girl,” Silais purrs, cupping her face in her hands, and then she smiles playfully, running her thumb over her wet mouth. “But oh, we've made quite a mess, haven't we?”

 

Well, yes, that's kind of the idea, that means she did a good job and--oh

 

Silais is reaching over to the table, picking up the cleaning cloth and... rubbing at her lips?

It's red, it's…  _ oh _ … she’s cleaning the lipstick off her mouth. And cheeks, and chin, and… her  _ nose _ , wow yeah that is a mess, that's a lot of red, and now there's  _ more  _ because she's blushing so hard her face feels like it's on fire as Silais cleans the lipstick off the insides of her thighs.

Silais doesn't appear to have any intention of getting down, and honestly she doesn't mind. She has two handfuls of supple, sleek Silais-ass and legs over her shoulders. She can  _ die _ here. 

 

“You enjoy a challenge, don't you, Caliber?” Silais asks, reaching over to retrieve her harness and the toy, while she shifts under her to hold her steady. The glass toy  _ clinks  _ lightly against the socket ring as she sets it into place, the buckles jingling softly.

“Yes ma'am,” she breathes.

Silais taps one of her hands, looks at her expectantly.

 

Oh, right. 

 

She lifts Silais up over her head, letting her legs fall from her shoulders and setting her on her feet. 

 

“Then I have a challenge for you,” Silais says, holding out the harness. 

 

That's… not going to be much of a challenge, it's just a basic kit, easy enough to slide up Silais’ legs, buckle into place, but she does it carefully, making sure each strap is snug but not too tight, running smoothly around and between her legs with no twists or kinks, and sits securely on her hips, the toy seated tightly so the base will rub against her jil.

But Silais backs slightly away, to sit on the edge of the dressing table. Wh…?

 

“You, my sweet girl, are going to work yourself open,” Silais explains slowly, and plucks another bottle from her dressing table, hands it over. The liquid inside is cool, and slides over her fingers like liquid satin. It's… unnaturally, noticeably cool, and  _ stays _ that way, even as she rubs it between her fingers and thumb. That's going to be… interesting, but still not a challenge.

But Silais is combing through the pots of paints and powders and the fat, soft crayons and tools on her dressing table, finally twirling one small, flat brush between her graceful fingers. 

 

“And you are going to hold very,  _ very  _ still.”

 

_ Oh. _

She swallows nervously,  _ loudly _ , and flushes harder. 

 

“Y-Yes ma’am.”

 

Silais smiles  _ adoringly _ , and it does funny, fluttery things to her stomach as Silais leans down to cup her chin in one hand. She's… she's  _ strong,  _ her fingers like thin, cool bands of durasteel under her jaw, but then… that makes sense, doesn't it? She would have to be, to dance like she does, the erotic acrobatics she made look as easy as breathing.

 

“You may begin.”

Oh! Oh, right. Oh  _ no _ . Glass bottle and slippery hands is a recipe for disaster, oh no

_ “Caliber.” _

“Yes ma'am?”

“Take. Your. Time.”

“Yes ma'am.”

 

_ Breathe.  _

 

She slicks her fingers, carefully puts the bottle down, reaches back. It's cool, almost cold against her hole, but it's supposed to be and it's better than any slick she's ever used. It helps that she really,  _ really _ wants this.

 

Silais is taking  _ her  _ time as well, selecting a fat crayon made of soft, translucent wax to define in the shape of her mouth and fill in a tiny scar. 

 

The first finger slides in smooth as silk, but she's supposed to take her time, take this slow, so she simply works the one back and forth. 

 

A slimmer pencil this time, a dark, rich red Silais uses to overdraw her lips, rounding them out and feathering the color towards the center with tiny, delicate strokes. 

 

She mimics the motions with the finger inside her, her chest pushed out and spine curved. 

 

A tube of lipstick in a slightly brighter shade, but Silais uses a small, flat brush to paint it on rather than applying it directly to her mouth. Longer strokes, but  _ precise _ , blending in towards the center of her parted lips. 

 

She'd had no idea her mouth was  _ this  _ sensitive. 

 

Another tube of lipstick, fading into… orange? Almost? And the same brush, to mix the colors evenly. Silais pauses significantly, lets her shift and work a second finger into herself, panting lightly. 

 

Silais uses the same small, precise brush strokes to add the orange, and she continues to follow along, though it's more intense now, with the dull stretch. Silais focuses more on the inner surface of her lips, fading the color inward, using very little of it at all.

 

But with Silais working deeper, so does she, flexing her fingers. She can't quite get the right angle like this, it's just a tease, just enough to work herself open for the fat cock that catches flickers of light in its clear curves as it stands up between Silais lovely long legs. 

 

Speaking of catching light… Silais picks up a tiny jar of gold glitter. “Deep breath, darling.”

 

She swallows nervously and takes  _ several  _ short breaths in, hyperoxygenating her lungs like she's been trained, and one out, before taking a long, deep breath all the way down to her stomach.

Silais leans in again, but leaves the glitter on the dressing table, instead loading yet another brush with a thin, clear gel and layering it over the color. “Did I tell you that you were finished with your earlier task?” she asks coolly.

 

_ Fuck,  _ no. No, she hadn't, and  _ she  _ hadn't noticed that she'd stopped, too distracted by Silais’ soft hand on her jaw and the softer brush on her lips to focus on her own fingers  _ up her ass _ . Easy enough to resume fucking herself open on them, though holding back a moan is more difficult. 

 

“You are to  _ answer  _ a lady when she asks a question of you, Caliber,” Silais says, ice chips falling off her lips as she opens the tiny jar of glitter and choosing  _ yet another _ brush.

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” she stammers hastily.

“Did I tell you that you were finished with your earlier task?” Silais asks again, carefully touching the flat tip of the brush to the glitter

“No, ma’am,” she answers, but before she can take in a fresh breath, Silais is tapping the dusty brush to the inside edge of her bottom lip.

 

She  _ can't  _ breathe now, she'll upset Silais’ work, so she waits, and works her fingers into herself with her throat tight on the need for air. 

 

Small, careful taps of the brush while her vision starts to swirl at the edges, her windpipe feeling as if it were about to collapse under the pressure.

 

“Another, I think,” Silais purrs idly, and tilts her face from side to side by the grip on her chin.

“Y-Yes ma’am,” she rasps, and pushes a third finger into herself with an empty whine, her pulse pounding in her ears, in her mouth, her  _ tongue _ , and she  _ does not breathe  _ as Silais tips her chin back to apply the glitter to her upper lip.

 

Another clear gel, this one from a tube with a brush inside it, applied over all the rest, and it's  _ cold _ . Moreso when Silais leans in, pursing her lips, to blow gently over the drying finish, close enough to kiss and fading in-and-out of blue-white swirls.

 

“A few more seconds to let it cure, my sweet girl, and then you can breathe,” Silais murmurs, smiling gently, then wryly. “Through your nose, naturally, and  _ slowly. _ ”

 

She has no air left to speak, can barely think, but she nods, because she is to  _ answer  _ a lady when she is spoken to.

 

“Three… two… one…”

 

She can  _ taste  _ the scent of mint on Silais’ skin, and it's  _ heaven _ . 

 

_ “Lovely _ ,” Silais purrs, and leans back on the dressing table, pushing all her tools aside. One slender scarlet fingertip catches the very tip of her sleek cock, pulls it back to show the underside. The leather of her harness is so softly broken-in that it doesn't creak at all. “It won't smear, now. Test it for yourself.”

Her hands go to Silais’ hips again, and she carefully presses her mouth to the smooth, cool curve of Silais’ knot. It's not much bigger around than the rest of the toy but definitely more than enough to notice.

When she settles back on her heels, there's not even the tiniest smudge on the clear glass, and the fresh painted surface of her lips feels soft and cool, whatever Silais had used more flexible and without the dry-waxy, chalky or slimy texture of anything she'd ever managed to smuggle or buy for herself. 

 

“Have a look,” Silais says, taking her hands to pull her to her feet. She places them firmly palm-down on the dressing table when she steps aside, trails those mirror-black icepicks up her forearm, over her shoulder and all the way down her spine, like talons made out of road-ice.

 

The girl in the mirror looks like she's breathing flame, like she's kissed molten metal, with  _ Silais _ leaning against her back as a long sleek stretch of soft skin and muscle and the heavy weight of her breasts pillowed on her shoulderblades. Silais rests her chin on her shoulder, feathering her curls forward to hang down her chest, artfully tousled and soft, winding some of the strands around her fingers into sleek ringlets.

The cool, heavy toy rests along her tailbone, and she hisses when Silais grabs a handful of her ass, talons digging into the teeth of her Cog tattoo. 

 

“Cute,” Silais purrs, follows it up with a sharp slap to her ass, a nip to her jaw. “But I think that you are  _ mine _ , now.”

“Yes ma’am,” she breathes reverently, and sets her feet out wide, whimpering as Silais drags the cold, slicked head of her cock down the cleft of her ass, presses the tip against her hole.

 

Talons prick her hip, her opposite shoulder, as Silais pushes in  _ slow _ , that raised swirl sliding past the softened ring of muscle in smooth, cool ripples, stretching her wide open with a long, soft moan. The knot presses against her rim, Silais hipbones just brushing her skin, and she rocks backwards with an eager whine, seeking more.

Silais’ talons  _ dig _ into her, rake sharply around her hip to the small of her back, pushing down with the heel of her hand, forcing a hard arch into her spine that shifts her hips back where she started.

 

“ _ Fffuck--!” _

“Language, Caliber,” Silais warns, and draws back out, making her whine pleadingly, though the lip of her cockhead still pulls teasingly at her rim.

“Y-Yes, ma’am, apologies, ma’am,” she stammers, gripping the edge of the dressing table and fighting the urge to push back onto Silais beautiful cock. “W-Won’t happen again, ma’am.”

“No, it I don’t think it will,” Silais murmurs fondly, and thrusts forward again with a hard, smooth roll of her hips and spine that makes her gasp, her head falling between her arms.

 

But only briefly, because Silais gathers up a large clump of her hair, pulling her head up. “Oh no, my sweet girl, I won't let you miss this.” 

 

So she looks up, and she watches, and Silais lets go of her hair to let her hand curve around her throat, talons prickling the corners of her jaw as Silais leans forward, pressing against her back again. 

 

The contrast is unreal. 

 

Silais’ breasts and stomach and the tops of her thighs obscenely soft and cool against her own combat-hardened muscle, soothing her hot, feverish skin.

But the talons digging in, and the thick, hard cock pushing into her is something else entirely, making her moan with every rolling thrust. It's better still when Silais leans back, hands on the small of her back and her shoulder for leverage, and puts all her hyperflexible spine into it.

 

She's been fucked before, but not like  _ this _ \--Silais  _ moves  _ differently than any of her brothers, sinuous and fluid, thrusting into her so the motion rolls through her in ripples, in waves. The knot in the toy pushes against her rim, Silais holding the pressure there a little longer, a little deeper each time, before she pulls back, lets the hard curve drag over  _ that _ spot inside. It's good, it's  _ so  _ good, enough that she moans and whines helplessly each time, that she  _ shudders  _ when Silais kisses her shoulder.

Silais’ hand on the small of her back moves farther down, her thumb pressing at her rim around the thickness of the toy, pressing her open for the knot.

 

“Oh, oh  _ please--” _ she pants, watching Silais’ sweet, satisfied smile over her shoulder in the mirror, watching her press another cool, soft kiss to her back--until she can't see anything at all through the stars in her eyes.

The knot slides home with a  _ pop _ that strips the air from her lungs, and slender arms close around her, hands spread wide over her chest. Silais presses all along her back again, all sweet cool softness and slowly shifting hips. Small, shallow movements now, with Silais’ knot pushing against her prostate, the pressure never stopping entirely as she moves. It ebbs and flows, it  _ ripples _ like water, Silais’ cock still so cool even with the all the heat curling tight, low in her stomach around the hard, heavy weight deep inside her. 

 

Silais is sighing in her ear, both hands going to her hips, palms sliding down the front of her thighs before she drags her talons sharply back up to her chest. It makes her arch back against Silais with a thready moan that Silais echoes, because--because the way Silais is moving must be making the base of the toy rub against her first jil, the straps along her slit and second. She's going to get herself off again, by fucking her.

And it works best if she lets Silais work, lets her dig her long, strong fingers and those needlepoint talons into her hips, rub all her beautiful body against her back and thighs. She just--she just needs to hold steady, just hold on, resist the sweet spiral of fire and ice low in her abdomen building higher and brighter with every shift and roll of Silais’ body against hers, the cock buried inside her--

Until Silais sighs sweetly, stiffening, going briefly up on her toes--and then relaxes, resting her head between her shoulderblades as she shivers through her aftershocks. 

 

“ _ Now _ , darling,” she murmurs, the movement of her lips like a kiss.

 

She does as she's told, her spine arching deeply enough to give one of the other dancers a run for their money as she moans aloud, the sound and the orgasm coming up from her  _ toes _ .

 

When her vision clears enough that she can look in the mirror again, Silais is resting her chin on her shoulder again, smiling sweetly.

And the  _ art _ Silais made out of her mouth is still flawless, despite the deep tooth-marks in her bottom lip. 

 

_ “Beautiful,”  _ Silais purrs, and her honey-brown gaze in the mirror isn't focused on her mouth, but her flushed cheeks and lust-blown eyes, framed in the gold she'd painted on before she left the barracks.

“Come lay down, my sweet girl,” Silais murmurs, pulling out and petting her chest gently when she whines at the loss. 

 

She turns, and Silais bumps their foreheads gently together, fingertips gentle on her face and chest while she carefully unbuckles the harness again, helps Silais step out of it with shaking hands.

Silais takes the harness and toy from her, drops it onto the dressing table, and takes her hands to guide her over to the couch.

Her chest makes as absolutely fantastic a pillow as it looks like it would, as Silais leans back into the couch, pulls her along to lie down with her.

Those long icepick talons turn beautifully gentle, stroking through her hair… just one more layer to the dancer the  _ other  _ dancers, the ones who really knew her, called Daesha Dia. Ice Queen. 


End file.
